


Christmas List

by SecondSilk



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Christmas List, M/M, Make the Yuletide Gay, Remixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-15
Updated: 2010-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House has a Christmas list. He never expects to get everything on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas List

House listened to last notes of Silent Night until even the memory of them faded. He was sure he could hear Wilson's quiet inhale and exhale of breath in the cool quiet of the room. He wasn't sure that he wasn't imagining it, but combined with the snow falling outside his window and the spices on the chicken they'd eaten, it was a pleasantly romantic notion.  
   
He glanced back over his shoulder at Wilson, who was sprawled, boneless, on his couch. Wilson's eyes were closed, his tie loosened and his collar unbuttoned. Wilson had his arms resting against the back of the couch and his ankles crossed on the coffee table, and House didn't mind.  
   
House reached blindly across the top of the piano and pulled a small notebook across the slippery surface. He reached for the stub of pencil he used to mark scores, but knocked his cane over in the process, and felt Wilson's eyes on him. He ignored whatever questioning look James was sending his way, and reread his Christmas list.  
   
It wasn't a normal Christmas list. Most people made a list of the material objects they felt they deserved to make up for the year just gone, or needed to prepare themselves for the year ahead. House wrote a list of the elements he wanted in order to make Christmas day better than other days, and therefore join the ranks of normal people, just for a moment.  
   
He had crossed off 'good company,' 'a job well done,' and 'hot food,' after Wilson had first suggested that he'd come over. He'd crossed off 'laughter' before he'd sat at the piano, and was able to cross off 'give to Wilson,' now. Wilson looked ridiculously content, and few people were allowed the privilege of listening to House play.  
   
And that meant that there was just one more item on House's list. And it was closer to something from a traditional Christmas list - something he wanted that he certainly wouldn't get on a normal day. He had simply written 'James.' He looked up to the darkness of Wilson's sleepy eyes, took a deep breath and crossed his name off his list. Sometime in the distant past, between Mrs Wilson numbers two and three, House had had a plan. Right now, he had only determination and a relaxed Wilson.  
   
He placed the notebook carefully on top of the piano, picked up his cane and pushed himself to his feet. He took a carefully deliberate step towards Wilson. Wilson tensed. His posture didn't change, but his eyes lost their sleepy, relaxed look as he focused on House and his arms were held stiffly against the back of the couch.  
   
And House found that he couldn't just do it, whatever his sneakers told him. He had to give James a way out, an opportunity to lie in any half-convincing way, a chance to save this much of their relationship, because it was Christmas, because House had had alcohol on top of the Vicodin, because James had always been the responsible one. But mostly because House had nearly all he wanted, and James had as much to lose.  
   
So House asked "Why are you here?" in a tone he hoped held more curiosity than annoyance.  
   
Years of friendship had given Wilson some skill in ignoring his friend's tone of voice altogether. He responded by simply raising his eyebrows.  
   
"Isn't it a bit late to be asking philosophical questions?" He checked his watch; it was still before midnight, "or too early?"  
   
"Not us, just you," House clarified. "It's Christmas. You have a tasteful home with a nice wife and a pretty meal. Why are you here?"  
   
"I don't want to talk about home," he said.  
   
"Then don't tell me why you're not there," House said, taking another step towards the couch. "Tell me why you're here."  
   
Wilson paused short of the automatic 'you had food.' He looked up at House and must have seen the unusually blatant sincerity in his posture. We're actually talking about this, he thought, and wasn't sure whether to smile or sigh. So he answered the question.  
   
"You don't suffer fools - at all. You make no time for dull people. And you trust reluctantly. But here I am, eating your Chinese take out, listening to you play the piano. I couldn't imagine a greater gift."  
   
House pressed his hand to his heart and bowed with a mocking tilt of the head.  
   
"Why, James, that's so sweet."  
   
Wilson shrugged. "You're the one who played Silent Night."  
   
House took another step forward until he was leaning over Wilson. He leant properly, both hands on the head of his cane, and looked down at his friend. Wilson hadn't moved, and his arms were still spread wide. But his eyes were tracking House's movements carefully and he was beginning to look trapped.  
   
"I'm going to kiss you," House announced.  
   
Wilson blinked, a deliberate closing and reopening of his eyes that did nothing to clarify the situation. It wanted suddenly to know what had been written in the notebook.  
   
"Stand up," House said.  
   
And Wilson did. House was not a man one could easily argue against, even at the best of times, and there was no way Wilson could refuse whatever he was seeing in those eyes. They were standing close enough then for House to raise hand to Wilson's cheek and draw him close enough that their lips pressed together.  
   
At first it was simply a kiss, warm and wet, unfamiliar lips slid against each other and the strange sensation of stubble. House's fingers were gentle on Wilson's cheek, and Wilson raised his own hands to House's chest, keeping him from coming closer or moving away. And it was nice.  
   
Then they reached a tipping point, wet became sweet, warm became desperate and Wilson's fingers tightened on House's shirt to pull him closer. Wilson sighed, his mouth opening against House's and their tongues finding each other. House gasped, and pulled back against the grip Wilson had on his shirt.  
   
"Well," he said, when he regained enough breath to speak.  
   
Wilson was looking at him. His eyes were wide and slightly unfocused, but House had never been subject to such an intense examination by his friend. It made his skin feel tight and he felt suddenly embarrassed.  
   
"Can I kiss you, now?" Wilson asked, with a slightly lopsided grin.  
   
He didn't wait for a response, but pulled House until he stumbled and they were chest to chest. Wilson let out a moan at the solid sense of warmth, and his hands found their way to the back of House's head. House's arms curled around Wilson's back and Wilson smiled into the kiss.  
   
House's last coherent thought was to wonder what he might write on next year's list.


End file.
